A/N: my deepest apologies, I just realized I've been spelling the King's name wrong the entire story. It's Cailan, not Cailin. I shall endeavor to write it correctly from here on forward.

The sky was black, no stars to be seen. The horizon held the weak, cowardly gray of false dawn as the door to the hut softly opened, and then shut again.

The dirt dooryard was empty. Even the scraggly chickens still slept, the rooster eyeing her acerbically a moment before tucking his head back under his wing. Hidden in the shadows near the door, a large raven stood on an old, gnarled wood perch. As Nike went past, its golden eyes blinked open and glittered.

Nike felt disjointed, stitched together. The pain in her back had dulled to a distant, throbbing ache that made her movements feel stiff and halting. She had found suitable clothing left for her in the room she'd been sleeping in, but it had taken some time for her to dress and the effort had left her feeling clammy and dizzy again.

Around the tiny pool of light cast by a single lantern in the dooryard, the hills, trees, and brush of the Wilds were one inscrutable shadow. She forced herself to go to the edge of that dark, then as it became clear her legs would not hold her much longer, sat herself gingerly on an old stump.

There was a soft rustle behind her. Without turning around she said, "I don't intend to leave, Morrigan."

"Impressive," the woman said from only a few feet behind her. "You knew t'was me, and not your companion?"

"Alistair? I would have heard him a mile off. He's no hunter."

Morrigan stepped up to her side, then offered her a small plate. Nike looked blankly at it a moment.

"You did not wake for supper," Morrigan said when Nike didn't speak. "You have eaten nothing in nearly two days."

Nike wordlessly took the plate, regarding the thick cut sandwich upon it with disinterest. Truth be told she was starving, but had no desire to eat. Years of etiquette training took over, however, and ensured she minded her manners.

"Thank you, Morrigan."

As her fingers idly began to pick at the bits of bread and cold roast she looked upward at the blank sky and asked, "Why did you save us?"

"I did not," Morrigan told her lightly. "T'was- "

"Your mother, yes," Nike said dully. "Why would she-…never mind. 'Ask her.'"

"I am sorry I have no answers to give you," Morrigan said. Perhaps feeling the weight of those eyes on them, Nike's fingers managed to stop their plucking and bore some small tidbit of the sandwich to her mouth. She could not have said whether it was part of the beef or part of the bread; on her tongue it tasted the same.

"Have you lost family?" Nike asked. "A father, maybe?"

"The only family I have ever had is Mother." Morrigan was looking upward as well, as Nike glanced at her. In the dim light she was little more than a golden outline of herself. "Sad to say, I have not yet been able to lose her."

Nike frowned down at the sandwich, now a deconstructed mess. She plucked up a small piece, put it down again, then picked it back up. Morrigan's life was quite different than the life Nike had known. What had it been like, growing up here in this little hut, in the middle of the Wilds? No civilization for leagues in any direction, only a spattering of Chasind tribes that would have been as likely to cut your throat for an imagined purse than look at you?

What had it been like being a child with a mother like hers? A toddler? An infant?

"Why do you stay?" Nike asked. Though her question was without any context other than her own thoughts, Morrigan answered readily.

"The time has not yet been right for me to leave," she said.

"It must be miserable, living here."

"It is neither miserable nor joyful," Morrigan said. "It is merely what I am used to."

Now Nike looked at her again. "No friends? No…no community?"

"I have never had need of friends," Morrigan said evenly. "As for community- when you are as we are, community is not the safe and social cheer those of your kind might enjoy."

When you are as we are. Though the men had labeled Morrigan and her mother 'witches', neither had come right out and admitted they were apostate mages; not in so many words. Morrigan had asked if Nike wasn't afraid that she'd use magic on her, and Nike had responded with something banal and unimportant- she didn't recall exactly what it was at the moment. Right now, everything seemed banal and unimportant.

She made sure a bit more of the sandwich made its way into her mouth.

"That must have been difficult as a child," Nike said. "Your mother does not strike me as the warmest and most nurturing of women."

"I-…" Morrigan seemed at a loss. "I suppose not…"

Silence stretched between them again. The ache in Nike's back was growing teeth, as was her hunger. Her body, it seemed, wanted to live despite any feelings she might have to the contrary. The pieces of bread and meat were making their way more often to her mouth, and in larger portions.

"Might I ask you a question?" Morrigan said after a time. Nike nodded her permission. "What is it that you intend to do now?"

"Now?"

"You are a Grey Warden, are you not? There is still a Blight, is there not?"

Nike had all but forgotten she was a warden, in the wake of everything. Some warden, she thought. So far I have done nothing but gape like a child at a battle, and nearly die trying to fight a handful of darkspawn performing what should have been the simplest of tasks.

"What does Alistair say?" she asked. "You said he wasn't as badly hurt, that he was on his feet again?"

"He says little," Morrigan told her. "And nothing in regards to the Blight."

"I see." Nike looked back down at her plate and was shocked to find it was empty. False dawn had turned into true dawn, the cool air around them now light enough to see colorless shapes instead of just shadows. "I don't know what we plan to do now. I shall have to speak with Alistair, when he's up."

"He's up," a small, weary voice said behind them said. Nike turned to see, and immediately hissed between her teeth as the motion sent her lower back into a scream of pain.

Bedraggled and hollow-eyed, Alistair hurried across the dooryard toward her, helpless hands held out toward her, only to drop uselessly to his sides as Morrigan took her plate and steadied her in one smooth motion.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Should…should you even be up?"

"She should not," Morrigan said lightly as Nike tried to breathe the pain under control again. "However, it seems the dawn was too lovely a sight for her to miss."

Alistair looked around the glum, colorless morning with a baffled set to his eyebrows, and despite herself Nike found a smile briefly wanting to surface.

"It's just pain," Nike said, something her father had told her more than once as a child. She suddenly remembered his face so clearly her throat seemed to slam shut under the force of it.

"You're lucky to be alive," Alistair said, watching her. "I thought…I thought you were dead. When I saw you laying on the floor in that tower, I thought- "

He shook his head, rubbing at one temple and shuffling his feet slightly. He had such a talent of appearing to be no older than ten summers at moments like these, and Nike felt suddenly very sorry for him.

"It's all right, Alistair," she said, and her own voice still sounded far too thick for her comfort. She cleared her throat, straightening her shoulders. "We were just discussing what we are to do now. What do you think?"

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not entirely sure what we can do."

"You are Grey Wardens," a ragged form near the door said in Flemeth's bold voice; a voice that, as before, sounded far too strong for such a stick figure to produce. "I would think it would be obvious."

Alistair looked at her. "We can't fight the Blight, not just the two of us," he said. "All the others-…Duncan…"

"Died on the field, yes, I know," Flemeth said, plucking a bag from a hook near the door. She began to thoughtlessly toss seed from the bag around the yard. The chickens, still dozing, barely noticed. "It's a pity all the Wardens in the world died."

"All the-" Alistair looked confused. "No, I don't know where you-…there are others."

"Oh really?" she asked, half glancing at him from under one ashen eyebrow. "Others, you say?"

"Well, of course."

"How long would it take for them to come?" Nike asked. Alistair blinked owlishly at her.

"It would take time," he said. "We could send messages but not from here. We don't have the birds here. There are a number in Orlais- "

Morrigan interrupted him. "This sounds to be a lengthy discussion. I shall put the porridge on."

Alistair watched her go, and as she vanished into the house he went over to where she had been, speaking in a low voice to Nike.

"There are a number in Orlais," he said. "But even if we could get them a message and they left immediately, it would take at least a month for them to reach us. Did…did she tell you about Loghain?"

When he said 'she', he tilted his head toward the open front door, indicating Morrigan.

"Yes, she told me," she said.

"I still can't believe he would betray the King like that. All those people- "

"It was the beacon," she replied softly. "We must not have lit it in time. The King might already have been lost by the time we did, their position overwhelmed."

"You lit the beacon in time," Flemeth said loudly. "And in case you had forgotten, I am still here."

Alistair gave a little startled jump and turned toward the older woman, his cheeks hot. "I'm sorry, we weren't trying to- "

"You were, but that's all right," Flemeth said knowingly, smirking. She'd scattered so much seed it was almost impossible to see the dirt of the yard. "This Loghain is not important. What is important is the Blight, boy. The darkspawn won't be lazing about Ostagar, waiting patiently for your Wardens to arrive."

"She's right," Nike said. "Would the Wardens even be enough?"

"They'd be enough to stop an Archdemon."

"So are you two," Flemeth told him. He glared around at her.

"Neither of us has any real experience," he said. "We wouldn't even know how to fight an Archdemon, let alone defeat it."

Flemeth snorted, hanging the now empty bag back up on its hook. "I should have just left you to die up on that Tower. Useless as straw lips on a woodpecker."

"Hey now!" Alistair said, indignant anger on his face. Nike, however, heard the ghost of her father's voice again.

"We're not useless," she said slowly. "No one is useless if they can be used as a bad example."

Alistair gaped at her in confusion but Flemeth laughed. "So it is so."

"Messages travel faster than men," Nike said, looking at Alistair. "The other Wardens can tell us how to defeat an Archdemon if it comes to that."

"Either way, we'd still need an army," he said. "And the only army I know still left in Ferelden is marching north with Loghain."

"What about Orlais? Didn't the King want men from Orlais?" Nike asked.

Alistair shook his head wearily. "Even if Orlais agreed to send an army, it'd take them even longer to get here as it would the Wardens. And that's if Loghain allowed it."

Nike had forgotten; with the King dead Loghain Mac Tir's daughter had claim on the throne, unless Cailan had offspring that Nike was unaware of. With Cailan gone, it was not unreasonable to believe that the queen would defer to her father on matters of state. Given how Loghain had reacted at any mention of assistance coming from Orlais she doubted he would allow an Orlesian army to cross into Ferelden, Blight or no Blight.

This isn't your problem, she thought. You didn't even want to be a warden.

For a moment, Nike saw with clarity that she was actually free now. She'd been conscripted against her will, and had only agreed to stay and be a warden because it would give her the tools to avenge her family against Rendon Howe without being a hunted fugitive at the same time.

Now, what was stopping her? The Grey Wardens in Ferelden were all dead, except herself and Alistair. The King was dead, so could not fulfil his promise to send his forces to Highever to mete out legal justice. She could leave the Wilds right now, return home, find Rendon Howe and slit his dishonorable, cowardly throat. Who would stand in her way? Who would hunt her, or hold her as an oath-breaker? Alistair?

Then she thought of the battle, raging in the valley below her as she stood near that bridge. The sheer number of the horde, swallowing up the land as they came out of the trees. She thought of those at the Tower, thought of that Ogre, and felt cold to the very core of her being.

Those monsters were out now; out of the Deep Roads, out of the Wilds. Unchecked they would consume Ferelden and then every land beyond. If she quit and went to kill Rendon Howe, she would get her vengeance. She would sit as the Teyrna of Highever for…how long? Days? A week? Maybe months?

She'd have a front row seat as the darkspawn consumed her land and her people and then her; small comfort Howe's blood would be to her and her family then.

What were they to do? They could not wait for an army from Orlais, even if one were to be allowed through. The Wardens would not be enough to face the entirety of the Horde, were they to come. If they were to stop the Blight, they needed to kill the Archdemon, but they could not reach the Archdemon without an army, and there was no army to be had.

Her back was a fury again, and she shook her head, getting to her feet. Seeing the pain on her face Alistair reached out clumsily and took her arm, peering at her with concern. "You really shouldn't be- "

There was a rattle in the brush in the distance, heard only because the morning around them was so new and still the birds hadn't even started to greet it. Both Nike and Alistair stiffened and turned toward where the sound had come from. Nike's mind was filled with images of the darkspawn, of an ogre or two, creeping through the scrub and stunted trees, jaws salivating. She had no weapon on her, didn't even know where her bow might be. If darkspawn came upon them now, they would stand no chances.

Then a low sound, and Nike tore away from Alistair, nearly knocking him over as she broke into a lurching, lumbering run. She knew that sound, knew that whine.

"Holly? Holly!"